Long Live Us
by Air Guitar Pixie
Summary: Because the cruelest punishment isn't dying. It's being forced to live.


A/N: _This came to me at three in the morning, and is the reason I stayed up until four. It's...sad. And angsty. But I hope you like it? Triggers: death, possibly implied suicide attempts? That's about it. Mentions of blood and stuff. Maybe a couple swears. Enjoy!_

_-Jaq_

* * *

It's 2027.

_Crash_.

Glass rains down, the shards sparkling in a cascade of brilliance. It's funny how they're at their most beautiful when they're broken, when they're about to be lost and thrown away.

Shrinking down, he covers his head as the windows continue to explode. Three until they reach him.

Two.

One.

He drops to the ground, scooting desperately across the floor in an attempt to escape, but there really isn't much he can do. His jacket rips and he feels a bullet graze his back, but, miraculously, he's otherwise unhurt. (invincible or not, bullet wounds still hurt a hell of a lot)

The guns stop, and the silence is deafening. No breaking glass, no pop pop pop of automatic rifles, just...silence.

And his heart, pumping blood throughout his body in a desperate attempt to stay alive. Ha. If he could rip out his heart and die, he would.

An electronic hum breaks the silence. "Mr. Winchester, if you are still alive, stay where you are. I'm sending in men. They will not hesitate to shoot you if you make even the slightest attempt to escape, do you understand?"

Sam understands. All too well, he understands. So he puts his hands above his head, laying flat on the floor. It's almost surreal when the SWAT team bursts in, armed to the teeth. Sam's hands are yanked behind his back and cuffed-tightly, but not cruelly- and he is read his rights.

Then, they drag him up and outside, where no less than four cop cars are waiting. Sam smiles, but there isn't any humor in it.

The car drive is short, and within minutes he's handcuffed to a table. There's a no-nonsense young woman standing in front of him, and there's an armed guard behind.

-:-

"Do you plea guilty or non guilty to the crimes you have been acquitted for, which are as follows: murder, attempted murder, breaking and entering, theft, violent crime, credit card fraud..." the list drones on and on. Sam stops listening.

It doesn't matter, he thinks to himself. If I told you the truth you wouldn't believe me, and even the most biased court in the world would find me guilty. "Not guilty," he says anyway. After all, he isn't.

The crowd starts muttering furiously, and Sam is returned to his cell.

-:-

"As your lawyer, I need an alibi, Sam."

Sam looks up. "That isn't going to change anything. There's DNA evidence, and two separate tapes, plus half a dozen witnesses."

"Just let me hear it out."

"What, that a shapeshifter pretended to be me, whilst I was tied in the bathroom, and then untied me and escaped through the window before the cops showed up?" Sam snorts. "Yeah, that'll go down well. Thanks but no thanks."

-:-

"I declare the accused guilty and punishable by death by lethal injection."

-:-

Sam could have laughed. Of all the ways to die, he was going to go out like a common murderer. He'd always thought he'd go out bloody and violent, not...this.

Well. That is if it holds. Sam hasn't died permanently yet (Dean has, but that was years ago and Sam would rather join him than continue on his endless crusade), which is saying something.

Not to say that Sam hasn't tried. He has, all right. Tried every damn method in the book and a few others, but he couldn't do it.

So lethal injection? It's new, but Sam's hopes aren't raised.

He remembers Dean. How his brother (and his brother's angel) saved the world. They died doing it, though.

Sam buried them in a little clearing in a forest in Wisconsin.

He left the Impala over Dean's grave, a monument to his brother. Over time, it rusted, and it probably wasn't even salvageable now, but it still seemed like the right thing to do. Sam couldn't just drive away, knowing Dean would never again sit in the seat and blast his annoying music.

So Sam's not afraid of the concept of death. Life is pretty much torture anyway.

By all rights, as it's 2027, Sam should be 44. Instead, he's still 32. Life (or whatever life he has) sucks.

He doesn't struggle as he's strapped to the table. Of course not. There isn't anything he can do.

Sam closes his eyes as he feels the needle slip in.

-:-

He wakes up where he always does, room 58 of a little motel in Georgia. That's where...it...happened. It's not even a motel anymore, just an old shack.

About a day has passed. Usually, he comes back sooner.

Sam remembers the maple tree that grew up over Cas' grave. It sprung up in a year, sooner than maple trees grow. It must've been Cas, somehow.

-:-

2055

Sam figures the authorities don't know what to think of him. He's been declared 'dead' no less than twenty one times, and over the course of nearly fifty years. Still, he hasn't aged a day in appearances.

Sam smiles bitterly to himself. He had never really anticipated living to old age, but now, it looks like he doesn't have a choice.

-:-

2065

One thing is certain, however. Sam's good at hunting and credit card fraud. He walks into a new town. Now, he's Angus Young. He's picked it out after the lead singer of AC/DC as some sort of weird tribute to Dean, but nobody will care. Few people remember the age of classic rock now.

-:-

Two weeks later, Sam visits Dean's grave. It's the fiftieth anniversary of his brother's death. It hasn't gotten any easier, either. Sam still remembers the day.

-:-

2015

/"Sammy, we did it. We found a way to stop demons, angels...all of it. Except maybe shapeshifters and vamps, since they're mostly human. But you can take care of that, eh?"

"What do you mean, I can?"

"That's the thing. Somebody's dying- not just their body, but their soul- and somebody's never dying." Dean frowns. "I'm sorry. I really am. Cas and I...we already decided. It's okay. You don't get a say, okay?"

-:-

"Cas!"

"He's gone, Dean..."

"He was supposed to be the one who lives, the stupid son of a bitch! He was supposed to live! We can't do it, not anymore..."

"Dean, I can."/

-:-

2065

Now, Sam wishes more than anything that he hadn't agreed. Because Dean was well and truly gone, and Sam...well, he wasn't going anywhere.

-:-

It's 2067, and the Impala is one hundred years old. It's just a rusted-out frame, barely distinguishable as a car anymore. Cas' tree is still alive, though.

-:-

2083.

Sam's one hundred years old. He doesn't celebrate; he drinks himself to sleep and wishes he was dead.

-:-

2097.

Dean's car is gone, nothing but a pile of rust and some screws and other bits. Sam cries over it for an entire hour, because he really is alone now; he doesn't even have a dumb old car to come back to. The only thing marking the graves now is Cas' tree, which is huge. But damn the world, because Dean's baby is gone and with it the most tangible trace of his brother.

-:-

2102.

The rainforests are all but gone, and the forest in Wisconsin has been clearcut for wood. Cas' tree is just a stump now, and a dirty, mouldy one at that.

-:-

Who the hell cares about the date anymore?

Why can't Sam ever die? Why can't he just cease to exist, like Dean? If someone were there with him, it would be bearable. But there's nobody. Nobody that's still alive that even remembers the story of Sam Winchester, much less Dean and Cas.

Nobody will ever know how they saved the world.

-:-

It's 2265. A little boy is walking down the street, whistling a tune that he heard from an old recording in History class. How did it go? _There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold, and she's buying the stairway to Heaven.._.

Suddenly, he's not the only one singing.

_When she gets there she knows if the stores are all closed, with a word, she can get what she came for_.

He whirls, coming face to face with a young man about his dad's height.

"Led Zeppelin was my brother's favorite band," the man says softly. "I haven't heard it in...years."

The boy smiles uncertainly. His history teacher had made them listen to 'iconic songs of the twentieth century,' and that one had happened to be his favorite. He didn't remember if it was by Led something-or-other, though.

"Hey, can you do me a favor? I know books are practically obsolete, but would you mind keeping this for me? It'd mean a lot."

"Yeah, sure" the boy says, marvelling a little at how the man talks. It's like he's from the twentieth century along with the song.

The man smiles, and even though the boy is barely eleven, he knows that the man's eyes are a lot older than he looks. He walks away, turning and waving goodbye.

-:-

Inside his room, the boy, instead of turning on the brand-new holocam, opens the book. There was a quick preface, which read:

_This is the story of two brothers, an old drunk, and a fallen angel. It's the story of how they saved the world._

_Dad's on a hunting trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days_...

The boy reads for three hours straight, until he has a headache. The story took place a long time ago, but it was still good. He was actually holding back tears by the time he got to the end.

He tries to find the man again, but he never does.

-:-

Sam still visits their graves every year. He still sits and holds back tears at the maple sapling that's sprung up, and the rock with the tiny matchbox car and a Led Zeppelin album on top of it.

He still remembers.

* * *

A/N 2_: ha...ha...ha... I've always thought that living could be the cruelest punishment, because you'd have to leave all your friends and people that you knew, and watch them die whilst you didn't. So...yeah. How about that angst? If this made you sad or you enjoyed it or even if you bothered reading the whole thing, leave a review please? Reviews make me happy and let me know that I'm appreciated and stuff...thanks for reading. Have a great day!_

_-Jaq_


End file.
